Family Ties
by ExpandingDarkness
Summary: What happens when Neal's father rolls into town and wants to see him? Rated T. Neal/Peter developing slash.
1. Cellphone Call

Neal watched the clouds float by as he sat at Peter's desk making origami objects. Peter was in a meeting with the Bureau's higher ups, briefing them about a case they had just completed. Neal hadn't been invited, even though he had protested. Peter said that it was going to be just a recap of everything that had happened and the meeting was just going to be long and pointless for him to attend. The FBI agent had won the argument in the end, promising Neal that they would go get something to eat somewhere decent afterward. Finally relenting, Neal had agreed to those terms and had proceeded to stay in Peter's office (with his feet up on the desk), making origami characters.

After finishing one of a starfish, Neal wrote a note on the back and dropped it into the bottom drawer of Peter's desk . His friend had "misplaced" the key to that drawer, complaining about how each drawer of his desk had a different key and how monotonous that was to keep up with all of them. Neal had found the key in the Burke's couch and made a copy before sticking the original back into the piece of furniture. He had been making various origami things and stowing them in that bottom drawer, each with a different note on the back, just waiting for Peter to find his key and unlock the treasure trove of paper.

Suddenly, his phone began to vibrate on the table and Neal picked it up. PRIVATE scrolled across the screen. Neal held the phone to his ear and asked, "Hello?"

"Neal Caffrey?"

"Who is this?"

"This is John Suttle."

Neal's heart went cold and he swallowed before speaking again, "Why are you calling me?"

"It's been a while since we've talked and I wanted to see my clever boy again. I'm coming into town this week and we need to have lunch."

"You know, we really don't have to, I'm sure you're busy and I'm busy too. . ." Neal trailed off. He couldn't think of anything good enough to get Suttle off of his back. There wasn't going to be a way around seeing him and Neal knew it.

Even a con man as good as Neal Caffrey was couldn't outsmart the king of con men.

"Neal, stop bullshitting me. Meet me at Grand Central Station at one o'clock tomorrow alone. Got that?"

"Yeah," Neal answered after a moment of hesitation, "I've got that."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

Neal hung up and pocketed his phone in a daze. His mind reeled with the news. Of all the people in the world, why would his father contact him at a time like this? It couldn't be a coincidence. With Kate in New York City speaking to him over the phone and his recent probation from prison, John probably wanted something of him or just to make him even more confused about everything. Probably both.

Neal's frow grew deeper as he left Peter's office. He headed downstairs to the records room and dug through the case files and profiles. He found his file and set it down on the table. Peter had put the file together while working his case and Neal wanted to know just how much Peter knew about his family. Sitting down and opening the thick Neal Caffrey file, Neal saw pictures stapled to the black file that he hadn't laid eyes on in years. There were original photographs of his parents and a hand-drawn family tree in Peter's handwriting taped to the inside front cover of the file. After that was the several years old mug shot from the prison and his imprisonment details along with his former physical details listed in case he ever escaped. On the next page was a more current picture of him and the details of his probation. Past those pages was a small, skinny photoalbum which Neal set aside on the table.

Neal read through the surprising personal details that Peter had scrawled on the pages inside the folder and winced at the accuracy of his childhood story. On the pages was every award, accomplishment, transcript and document that belonged to Neal Caffrey. Medical records were there, so was his first driver's license. Neal had to admit that Peter had done a good job being thorough. Neal skipped ahead to the section about his family and read through that. He found "John Suttle" highlighted and squinted at Peter's messy handwriting. Once finished with those paragraphs, he flipped through his father's extensive file. With outrage displaying across his face to what he was reading, Neal slammed it shut a few minutes later. John had been sent to prison for two years over an unproven murder. There hadn't been enough evidence for a longer sentence, so John had walked in half of the time that his son was in prison for a more minor felony. Neal knew that his father most likely killed whoever it was that he was sent to jail for. Neal knew his father and what John did. John had shot people in Neal's childhood home with him just in the next room. That was why Neal didn't like guns that much. Guns reminded him of his father and what he had done years ago.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Neal was relieved to see that it was a more friendly name on the ID this time.

"I thought we were going to get something to eat," was the first thing he heard.

"Yeah, hold on, I'll be up there in a minute," Neal answered before hanging up.

After replacing everything neatly into the boxes where they had came from, Neal stared momentairily at the photoalbum on the table. With one more glance, he stowed it into his coat pocket. He'd look at it later after dinner.

* * *

"Neal?" Peter asked, "Neal? Hello?" he waved his hand in front of his partner's face to grab his attention and the younger man jolted a little when he realized that Peter was trying to talk to him.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"What's on your mind, kid?" Peter asked with a hint of concern in his curious voice, "Your head has been somewhere else ever since I got back from that meeting."

"I. . ." for once Neal didn't have anything clever or snarky to comment back with, "Sorry," he repeated.

"Is it Kate?"

"No."

"Something to do with Mozzie?"

"No."

"Then you might as well tell me. I'll find out sooner or later," Peter shrugged, stirring his soup. Neal sighed and continued tearing the crust off his sandwich as he had been for the past ten minutes. Could he tell Peter? Would Peter understand?

"Do you trust me?" Neal asked, trying to keep his voice even. Peter raised his eyebrows at that, "You're not thinking about running away again, are you?"

"No, I'm not," at Peter's skeptical look, Neal raised his hands in mock surrender, "I swear I'm not trying to run away, okay? Just please answer the question."

"Yeah, I trust you," Peter responded after a moment of silence, "In a bit different way than with everybody else, but I do trust you now."

"Good," Neal sighed and realized how tired he was at that moment, "My father called while you were in the meeting."

"Your father?"

"Yeah," Neal looked away from Peter for a moment, "We're meeting at Grand Central Station tomorrow for lunch."

"Neal, that's not a smart idea. I know what kind of person your father is and he'll hurt you-"

"Don't you think that I already know that?" Neal snapped back at his partner.

Peter set down his spoon and stared at his young companion, "Yeah, I know you know, kid. He's the type of man that you can't say no to and if you dare try to he will kill you or hurt you badly for it. He'll hunt you down or he'll hunt your family and friends down. You're worse off than anyone else because you're his son."

"He abused me as a kid, Peter," Neal looked up at Peter with wide blue eyes, "What he did to me. . .I don't want to face him again."

"Did he tell you to go alone?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll be watching then," Peter responded firmly, "I won't let anything bad happen to you, Neal, I promise."

"You can't make that kind of promise."

"Why?"

"It's a promise you can't keep."

"I can keep this one, Neal. For you."

"I couldn't keep the same promise for my own mother so how can you do the same for me, Peter?"

Peter sighed, Neal wasn't going to believe him no matter what he said. They sat in silence, finishing their meals. After paying and getting in Peter's car, the pair still hadn't said anything further. Finally, Peter broke the silence right before they pulled up at June's apartment, "I'll watch you tomorrow, I'm going to have your back."

Neal glanced at him once more with his large blue eyes before wordlessly getting out of the car and going inside the apartment.


	2. Father Son Reunion

A/N: Y'all are awesome with y'all's reviews :D They make me very happy! I like to know what parts you readers like and dislike and your reactions to such-and-such. Keep me informed!

* * *

Chapter 2: The Meeting

It was a rainy day, unfortunately, when Neal woke up the next morning. He woke up to the crack of thunder and flashes of lightning illuminating his room. Rubbing his face, he slowly sat up and then stretched. Today was supposed to be his "day off", but with meeting his father at Grand Central Station, that wasn't going to be possible. The fact that he was going to face John Suttle for the first time in nearly six years was surreal and it turned Neal's stomach. He wasn't looking forward to his little lunch date. The butterflies in his stomach agreed with that sentiment and fluttered around nervously. Sure, Peter was going to be watching and everything—but was he really safe? His father was a cold blooded killer and there was nothing that could stop him from doing terrible things if he put his mind to it.

Grabbing his cellphone, Neal dialed a familiar number and stuck the device to his ear.

A few rings later, there was a groggy voice in his ear, "Hello?"

"Moz, it's Neal."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Neal glanced at the clock above the refrigerator that read 6:17, "Yeah, I do," he replied with a small smirk. Moz never woke up before 7:30 and considered every moment of sleep precious. Neal had never argued with that, especially since Moz was a beast without his morning coffee. That reminded Neal of Peter Burke and how his FBI friend needed all the beauty sleep and coffee he could get.

"Okay, cheeky, why are you calling?" Mozzie yawned into the receiver.

"Wanna have breakfast with me?"

"'cuse me? You woke me up to set up a breakfast date?"

"Yeah, can you come by at 7?"

Mozzie sighed. Sometimes Neal Caffrey was impossible.

"Sure. . .better have coffee made before I get there."

"Already on it," Neal smiled to himself before hanging up.

After putting the toast in the mini oven and started the coffee, he sat down on the couch where the photoalbum was laying. Curiously, he opened it and flipped through the pictures. There was his mother, tired and worn from the stress of work, the abuse of her husband, and raising a son practically alone. Then there was his father, oblivious to his family except for when he needed someone to vent his frustration to. After those was the pictures of himself. His first bike, the Easter egg hunts when he was small, him and his mother in their new house when he was a young teenager, his birthdays, his first date, junior prom, senior prom, graduation. . .then it was over. Everything seemed to come to an end after graduation from high school.

Neal sighed, as much as his mother had attempted to make his life normal, it never turned out that way. After graduation, his life was a blur. He went away to travel and get into the business of theft and counterfeit. He had vowed never to become anything like his father, but yet he had developed into a criminal just as John had. Not even Peter Burke catching him twice and throwing him into jail could amount to the failure Neal felt from stooping to John's level. Nobody knew about that, not Peter, not Mozzie, not Kate.

The minutes dragged by until he heard a knocking at his door, expecting Mozzie, he called, "Come in!"

Instead of his old friend being there, it was Peter.

"Oh hi, Peter," Neal greeted the FBI agent casually, setting the photoalbum to the side where Peter wouldn't notice it immediately. Peter looked like he hadn't had any of his morning coffee yet, so Neal was curious as to why his partner was at his apartment that early in the morning.

Obviously, Peter was more aware than Neal assumed or he was just getting really good at reading the ex-con's body language for Peter said, "I came by to talk to you about what's going to happen this afternoon."

Neal supressed a groan, that's what he wanted to talk to Mozzie about before he saw Peter.

"Do we have to talk about that right now?" Neal asked with his blindingly distracting smiles that was supposed to lure Peter away from the topic at hand.

Unfortunately that tactic failed.

"I need to talk to you about it now so you're clear about what's going to happen this afternoon," Peter said in his business-like 'I'm an FBI agent' voice.

Neal sighed before nodding and taking a seat at the table. Then a blast of thunder rocked through the apartment. The lights flickered momentairily, but neither man paid attention. Peter sat across from him and stared into the large blue eyes of his friend, "The plan is to have you monitored by Jones, Cruz, and myself from various locations around your position. You probably won't be able to see us, but we'll be there undercover. We'll also have surveillance from the shop across the street and from a van parked outside. We can have backup in there within seconds if the alarm is sounded."

Neal nodded again, "Okay," he said simply, "You're not going to wire me up or anything?"

Peter slid his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver tie bar similar to the ones that Neal occasionally wore, "This has a wire embedded in it and will be activated from the van."

Neal took the tie bar and rubbed it gently to shine the polished silver. Another explosion of thunder erupted and was followed by the lights promptly flickering violently and going out. A moment later the pair heard a loud crash, equally loud curse, and "Neal!" from down the stairs. Using his cell as a flashlight, he found an actual flashlight in the closet and went out to the top of the staircase with Peter trailing behind.

"Hello?" Neal called down the stairs, "Moz?"

"You picked a lousy time to invite me over, Caffrey," Mozzie answered gruffly as he trudged up the stairs to where they were standing.

"Didn't expect the power to go out," Neal shrugged, glancing back at Peter momentairily.

Once Mozzie reached them, the older man regarded Peter swiftly, "Agent Burke, good to see you."

"You too, Mr. Havisham," Peter replied politely. Neal looked between his two closest friends that he had and lifted his eyebrows.

Awkward. . .

"Come on in, Moz, the coffee was finished right when the power went out," Neal waved his longtime friend inside with the flashlight, "You and Peter can get reacquainted."

* * *

It was 12:54 when Neal arrived at Grand Central Station for lunch and his nerves were becoming a bit more jumpy than they had been in a long time. What he was feeling was equivalent to having a gun shoved in his face. Or when Peter had a death glare pointed in his direction. Making sure nobody was intentionally watching him, he climbed into the back of the black van that was parked outside Grand Central Station. Peter looked up at him and gave him a grim look, "You ready for this, kid?"

"I'm ready for anything," Neal covered up his nervousness by packing on the bravado with a dazzling smile. For a moment, Peter looked phased until he cleared his throat and said, "You could still back out of this, Neal, you could just not show up and everything be fine."

"You know I can't do that, Peter," the ex-con shook his head seriously, "You said it yourself that he's the kind of man that will hunt you and your friends and family down if you disobeyed him. I don't want anything to happen to anybody else. This is my problem."

Breaking out into a cool grin, he added, "Besides, I've got this covered."

Peter stared at him skeptically for one more moment, "I sure hope so."

* * *

It was exactly 1:00 when he heard his name being said from directly behind him. Neal stood in a sea of people rushing to get through the station or out of it. People were in a hurry to go to lunch or meet with someone and they didn't seem to notice him. They were all too worried about themselves. That's when he heard his name being said, he slightly jumped. He wasn't alone on an island anymore as he had been for a mere five minutes. Now he was on a different continent. Turning, he saw an older version of himself standing there. It was John Suttle, in the flesh. Con-artist, murderer, and felon, John was there before his eyes. A surge of anger jolted through Neal from head to toe and he could feel his fists balling. Neal wasn't a particularly violent man, however he had sworn that the next time he laid eyes on his father would be the time where he punched him in the jaw. It took all of his will and restraint to keep himself from decking the bastard there on the concrete sidewalk.

"Hello, Neal."

"John," Neal nodded in courteous return. Hatred of the man or not, never let it be said that Neal Caffrey didn't have common manners.

"What happened to 'Dad'?" asked John innocently, using one of the expressions Neal recognized from himself. It was the one where he knew the answer fully well but he was just asking to get under Peter's skin. Neal now resented that look and made a mental note to schmooze up to Peter later.

"That ended a long time ago," Neal answered shortly, "So, you wanted to talk. Talk. I'm all ears."

"How about we get some lunch first, son?" John asked.

"Sure," Neal shrugged, "You're paying."

"Of course."

Neal ended up following his father through the station to a random restaurant, not even paying attention to where they were going. It was still surreal that this was even happening. It shouldn't be happening, but it was anyway. That was the part that concerned Neal the most. Since when had he lost every ounce of control of his fate? He had always had choices even in prison and on the run. Now it felt like all options had been sealed and there was no way out.

Neal Caffrey didn't like feeling trapped.

"So how was your time at Riker's?" asked John, startling Neal out of his reverie.

"You're asking how prison was? Shouldn't you know?" Neal replied cooly while hearing the tiny Peter Burke voice inside his head repeating soothingly, but firmly _focus, Neal, focus_.

"I was only in for two years and it wasn't such a. . .fine. . .institute as Riker's," John returned. Neal stared at him incredulously. There was hardly anything worse than Riker's. How could his father be comparing his time to Neal's when he had spent only half of the time there? Neal had been meshed in with murderers and rapists, people far worse than he would ever be. He hadn't been prepared to deal with that. On the other hand, John had been killing people like that for years and working with them also. What was the difference to him?

"Yeah, bet it was cushy," Neal retorted before the waitress came.

"What can I get you gentlemen?" asked the blond waitress whose nametag read: Sandy.

"Champagne for me," John replied immediately, "I'm toasting the return of my son."

Neal raised an eyebrow at that. John was obviously enjoying his misery. He was going to milk every moment of it, also.

"And for you, sir?"

Neal smiled up at the pretty, young waitress, "The same," he might as well play along to make it more bearable.

"Very good, sirs, I'll be back shortly."

John watched the waitress walk off and Neal studied his father. It had been six years since they had seen each other and nothing much had changed about his father's features. Neal was his carbon copy, except twenty five years younger. John was the same height with the same chisled facial features, except for not as delicate as Neal's. The wrinkles had damaged John's face, but underneath was what Neal had. Also, John's original hair color was the same chocolate brown as Neal's but now a mixture of gray. In a way, it made John look even older than he should be. Then again, it did give him a distinguished look in different lighting. Neal mentally shook his head, fortunately he got his eyes from his mother. John's eyes were a murky brown while Neal's was a brilliant blue.

"Interested in anyone lately? You were determined about that Kate girl," John continued with the interrogation. Neal fought not to stiffen at Kate's name. He did _not_ want to discuss that with his father. Anything with anybody but that topic.

"We're not together anymore," he managed to get out of his mouth without choking on the words or having his voice break in the middle. It was still painful to admit aloud to anyone and the only people he had said that to would be either Mozzie or Peter (whom both he trusted). It was like a stab to the heart to have to admit it to his father of all people. However, it was the simpliest answer to get out of going into detail.

"Shame."

Neal glared.

"I thought she would be a good wife to you," John went on to say, "She was a pretty woman and seemingly intelligent."

Neal's blood boiled.

"Ah well, not everyone can have a nice relationship. Your mother and I could never stay on the same page."

Neal untensed a centimeter, feeling like he would explode if he heard one more word about Kate come out of John's mouth.

"Here you go, gentlemen," the waitress came back with two glasses and a bottle of champagne, "Now what would you like to eat?"

"Steak, medium rare," John immediately answered, "and for you, Neal?"

"Do you have oysters?" Neal smiled, remembering it was Grand Central Station.

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll have those then, thank you."

Once the waitress left, Neal glanced at his father who had a bewildered look on his face, "Oysters?"

"Yeah, they're great," Neal nodded.

John watched Neal carefully for a moment longer before shaking his head almost imperceivably. Neal smiled to himself mentally after his facial smile melted away. Mozzie would be pleased.

"So, Neal," his father began after a few minutes of silence as Neal contemplated how the lunch date would go if it was Mozzie on the other side of the table rather than John.

Neal glanced up at his father attentively.

"I heard you've gotten yourself into a different kind of business now, FBI."

"FBI? That's crazy," Neal feigned surprise, "I'm a felon, a con-man."

"Like me."

_I wouldn't put it like that. . ._

"Why would I be working for the FBI when one of their agents arrested me and threw me in jail in the first place?" Neal asked as if it was the most insane idea he had heard in a year's time.

"Maybe they cut you a deal to get out of the big house," shrugged his father.

"That's unrealistic," Neal scoffed, playing it off as a joke, "They wouldn't stoop that far."

"I doubt that sentiment," John shot back, "My informants tell me you're now the bitch boy of the agent that captured you."

Ouch. That stung.

Neal flexed his arm under the table to keep the rest of his body from tensing up and giving away what he was really thinking through body language, "Your informants are mistaken," he answered evenly. How he was staying calm through all of this, he didn't know.

"Oh, I doubt that too," John replied, "Want to tell me the truth now, boy? You can't con and con-man."

Neal stayed silent. He wouldn't betray Peter or anyone else in the FBI. If his father knew what Neal was doing. . .helping the FBI catch white-collar criminals such as himself. . .there would be hell to pay. Somebody would definitely get hurt then.

"What I've heard," John leaned forward, "Is that you're putting away decent people on the streets-"

_Decent?_

"-people that are just like us trying to make an honest living-"

_Honest living?_

"-you're betraying your own kind, son."

The mini mental Peter voice took an outraged tone, _doesn't he understand that he's the criminal and we're the good guys?_

Obviously not.

"I wouldn't do that," Neal denied, "I wouldn't go back on what I am. I'm a convict and a criminal. I wouldn't betray the people like Kate and I. We have to make a living also. We just do it in a different way. Us 'white-collar' criminals are misunderstood."

The words felt like ash on his tongue.

John seemed to mull over what Neal had just said for what seemed like a lifetime in a minute and then merely shrugged casually.

"Okay then. A toast."

John grabbed the champagne bottle and popped off the top. He poured both glasses and then said, "A toast to reunion."

Feeling utterly disgusted, Neal clinked his glass with his father's with a fake small hint of a smile on his face.

Then Peter's voice was replaced by Mozzie's in his head.

_Oddly bipolar. _

"So what have you been up to since you walked out of prison?" Neal asked John to steer the conversation away from him.

"Delving into the business, making new contacts, the usual," John took another swig of champagne, "There's been more than a few gang wars in San Francisco since you were last out there. Our group has made quite a reputation by now. You should come back and join us. I could give you a good position where you don't have to get your hands dirty too often, but still get the perks."

"Maybe," Neal answered, knowing it would be a definite 'no'.

"I've got a nice place for myself and your mother," John continued, "Anna likes it alright. I would hope she does since it's the only place we've got and she doesn't leave that often anymore."

"Why not?" Neal asked, about to take a sip of champagne.

"She's sick, son, she's got cancer."

Neal froze at that. The glass halted at his lips and his eyes locked with John's. He searched his father's face for any indication of a lie with blazing speed and dread gripped his heart.

"Cancer? What kind of cancer?"

"Leukemia."

Neal's heart beat faster and faster. His mother was sick and he hadn't even known about it.

"Is she okay?" Neal whispered, "Is she going to be alright?"

Slowly, John shook his head no.

Suddenly, he felt like he was six years old again when he depended on his mother like she was the only life raft left on the Titanic. His mother meant the world to him. She had taken care of him and worked so hard for him to have a good life and when he had been sent to prison. . .he had to write to her and tell her why. . .she had been so disappointed in him. He had turned out like his father and screwed up. He hadn't done any good with his college schooling or anything that his mother had so desperately tried to teach him. Neal owed her a lot and had wasted everything that she had given him. Now she was about to die and he wasn't going to be able to repay her or probably even say goodbye.

The small child that hid in the corner while his parents screamed at each other and while his stepfather was killed in front of his eyes decided that today was the day that he returned from his sanctuary corner.

"She's had it for about three years now, she didn't want to tell you while you were in prison and would have rather told you herself face-to-face."

Neal didn't reply.

"She's a wreck right now, about to give up. I try to consol her, make her feel a little bit better. It doesn't work. I care about her and I-"

"You never did care about her," Neal responded icily at that, "You made her life living hell. She ran away from you, changed our names to my stepdad's, she wanted a divorce and you wouldn't let her out."

"She wasn't thinking straight. She ran off to another man."

"And they got married and everything was fine until you had to ruin that!"

"Anna was fucking cheating on me, Neal!" John hissed, "She was still my wife!"

"You could have just accepted the divorce," Neal answered, rising from the table, "but you had to go and kill Marcus, didn't you? You didn't even know his name, but you shot my stepdad anyway! He cared about Mom and he cared about me and you took that away!"

"Neal, son, I-"

"Save it for somebody who cares."

Neal then started walking away. He left the restaurant and went through the station to where it was clear outside. He then bypassed the black van waiting outside. He didn't want to talk to anybody and he didn't want to see anybody. He just wanted to be away from there. Neal ripped off the tie pin and threw it onto a bench as he passed. One of the FBI agents would find it eventually if somebody didn't steal it first. Neal didn't care. Once he got further from Grand Central Station, he could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat increase. He wanted to be as far away from there as possible.

So he started to run.

At first it started as a jog, then it increased into a run, then it transformed into a sprint of desperation.

Several minutes later, he ran out of breath from sprinting full speed through crowds of people on the New York sidewalks. He was nearly to June's apartment and walked the rest of the way there. June herself was in the parlor when he walked in, eyes beginning to water.

"Neal, are you alright?" June asked with friendly concern.

"Yeah, could you tell anybody that comes by to see me, if they do, that I don't want to see anybody?" Neal asked.

"Sure, dear," June frowned, "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine," Neal lied, "See you later, June."

Neal went upstairs and locked the door to his section of the apartment. He usually didn't do that so that June could have access to the balcony if need be, but she would understand his need this one time. After hanging up his coat, he could feel the hot tears running down his face.

The only remaining good he had from his past was falling apart.

* * *

The angst-fest is still to come. Please review! The more reviews the quicker I write :D


	3. Past and Present

A/N: Constructive criticism, spell-checking (God forbid), and many reviews are like crack and wholesome goodness. Thank y'all for reviewing and reading. I love all of y'all!

This chapter gives a Neal childhood backstory and let's out some angst.

* * *

Chapter 3: Past and Present

The sun went down quickly, filling Neal's section of the apartment with darkness. Neal sat on the couch with his arms wrapped around a pillow and his his legs folded up. His head rested against the armrest and there was a small damp spot where the tears had ran down from his eyes to the couch. Coughing slightly, Neal shifted on the couch, moving from the warmth he had accumilated to the cooler part of the cushion. His hair was completely out of place, very much unlike how it usually was. His overcoat and suit jacket were sloppily slung over the coatstand and the hat that had been gently placed on the top had fallen to the floor and been forgotten. The light blue shirt that Neal was wearing was rumpled, differing from it's usual state of being carefully ironed and pressed. His pants were wrinkled and the neat creases were gone. His shoes (which he had destroyed from running down the concrete sidewalks earlier and splashing through puddles on the way) were tossed in one corner of the room with his socks balled up on top where they had landed when he threw them at the shoes.

Neal hugged the pillow tighter, imagining it was his last anchor to the peace he had once had. That peace was him at home with Anna, his mother, for once unconcerned about their father. His father had ruined what Neal had in New York since he had been released from prison. _He just had to come and screw everything up_, Neal thought bitterly, feeling the chains binding his heart grow tighter and be pulled.

_Would you rather have not known about Mom's condition?_ His mental voice transformed into Mozzie's once more. _Would you rather have let her die without you knowing why?_

_ I would have figured it out sometime, I was planning to write to her. . ._

Neal knew that the voice in his head was right. If John hadn't have told him about Mom, he wouldn't have known. She would have died and Neal would always be wondering what ever happened to her. He didn't have her address, so he couldn't have written to her. He didn't have her number, so he couldn't call. Neal had been planning to ask Peter if he could look her up, but the opportunity never arose. His mother probably thought he was dead or still in prison.

On the coffee table, his phone began to vibrate loudly and the screen lit up. Neal glanced at it briefly, but didn't bother getting the phone or even squinting to see who was on the Caller ID. It didn't matter. If somebody needed him, they'd come by. The only people he could think of that would call him would be either Peter or Mozzie. It wasn't like he had many friends. Ex-cons weren't at the top of the social totem pole. Even ones as charismatic or charming as Neal Caffrey.

His cell kept vibrating and moving across the coffee table until it eventually fell onto the floor. Neal could read the caller ID now. It was Peter.

_Of course it's Peter. Who else would be calling me?_

Still, even though it was Peter on the phone, Neal didn't make haste to grab the phone and pick up. Finally, Neal decided to answer, but as soon as he reached for the cell on the floor the call ended. Neal paused and then brought his arm back up to hug the pillow again. He rolled onto his side and pressed his face against the cushioned back of the couch, squeezing his eyes tightly closed. Without warning, the tiredness began to weight heavily on him, making him feel even more distraught.

The minutes ticked by and Neal felt as if the world was resting on his shoulders. He thought about his mother and how she would take him down to the beach as a kid and walk along in the sand by the waves. Neal would always run off into the water and pretend that he was surfing. His mother would laugh and her pale pink cheeks would glow. These were the times when they didn't have to worry about going home. They could be with each other in peace for a little while to escape the horror of the man that would come home to them. Anna would smile and laugh during those times, unconcerned with the rest of the world's problems. The only thing that mattered was sunshine days and her little boy. Neal remembered always being worried, unlike his mother, that the day was going to end and they were going to have to go home to John. He would gulp back the tears when Anna took his hand and guided him up the dunes back to where the car was parked.

Then one day Anna met a man on the beach that changed all of that. His name was Marcus Caffrey. Anna ran into Marcus, quite literally, at the icecream stand on the beach while getting Neal his favorite cookies and cream icecream cone. It was a treat since it was Neal's eleventh birthday. Anna had accidentally bumped into Marcus while holding the two ice cream cones and spilled the cold treat down the man's shirt. Apologizing frantically, Anna was embarrassed, but Marcus was apparently charmed by Anna and they began to talk as they bought more ice cream. Anna like Marcus well enough to invite him to spend the rest of the day with her and Neal (with Neal's permission since it was his birthday after all).

The three years after that went by quickly with Marcus spending more and more time with Anna and Neal while John was out. John wasn't home too much so it was easy to be away from him. However, Anna never did anything unfaithful toward John since they were still married and Marcus respected that no matter how much he disliked John. Then John started to be home more often since he was developing a gang of his own there in L.A. and claiming his turf. Marcus was always concerned about Anna and Neal's safety, as Neal remembered, and convinced the pair of Suttles to move in with him once the shootings began in their neighborhood. Anna had agreed and packed herself and Neal up and moved into the other half of Marcus's spacious apartment. Neal was fourteen and a half at the time when they made that move. They stayed with Marcus for a few months before Marcus decided to pop the question to Anna.

As much as it sounded like a happy ending for Anna, Neal, and Marcus, that was peak of their happiness. Anna married Marcus and changed her and Neal's last names to "Caffrey" and the new family moved up to Seattle where Marcus was originally from. Everything was alright until shortly after Neal's sixteenth birthday. John came after them to get Anna and Neal back and take out his anger upon Marcus, intent on making him pay. Of course, John was beyond outraged that Anna had married Marcus when they were still married to each other. The divorce was apparently screwed up since John hadn't agreed to the divorce. It ended up with Anna being married to both John and Marcus simultaneously. Furious, John pulled out a gun and shot Marcus who had been present in the argument to protect Anna. Neal had been on his mother and stepfather's bed since the confrontation had taken place in the bedroom and witnessed his stepfather being killed by his father.

Neal wasn't the same kid after that.

He longed for those summer days on the beach with his mother to be back as Neal presently laid on the couch in the apartment. He wished for the clear blue skies, devoid of all of the puffy white clouds, and the cool air from the beach. Neal yearned for the sand between his toes and his mother's hand in his as they walked down to the icecream stand together again.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Neal was startled out of his reminescence by a loud banging at the door. Judging by the force of the knocks, it had to be Peter. He knew it was Peter a moment later when his partner's voice came muffled through the door from the hallway outside. Neal didn't catch what Peter said, only hearing his voice, but didn't particularly care. Peter could let himself in if he wanted. A second later, Neal was proven correct with the door opening and Peter asking, "Neal?" in a voice that carried through the apartment. Neal could hear Peter's footsteps as he walked into the apartment and then over to him, but he made no movement.

"Neal?" Peter stood over his stilled form on the couch, "Are you alright?"

Neal didn't look up at Peter for a moment until his partner repeated his name with even more concern than before. Finally, the saddened blue eyes rolled to look up at Peter's worry-etched face, "I'm okay," he quietly answered.

"No, you're not," Peter bluntly denied, "You're not okay at all. You ran away from the station."

Neal mentally sighed and aloud he said, "I couldn't focus in there and I-"

"Neal, I heard your father say your mother has leukemia," Peter said softly. Neal stared up at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Breaking his gaze with his partner, Neal tried to blink away the tears, but more only built up. He didn't want to cry in front of Peter. He didn't want to be told to cowboy up this time when he knew that he couldn't possibly do so even if he wanted to. However, it became increasingly difficult to hold in the despair he was feeling toward his mother. Neal sat up on the couch and Peter took a seat next to him, waiting for Neal to say something. Anything.

"I haven't seen her in years," Neal swallowed after speaking hoarsely at first, "I had no idea she was sick. . ." he trailed off as the first tears fell from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks once more, "This is all my fault. . ." he whispered.

Peter raised his eyebrows at that, "How is your fault, Neal? You couldn't have prevented her from getting sick or anything."

"I know," Neal whispered, "but I just feel responsible somehow. I should have taken my sentence and went all the way through with it so I could get back to her."

"Neal, we both know you would have ran off after Kate immediately after your sentence was up," Peter reminded him gently, "You wouldn't have know about your mother and you would have probably ended up back in prison." Though Peter believed that, he was surprised at what Neal had said. The kid had finally said that he would have finished his sentence. Peter wholeheartedly believed that if Kate had kept coming to see Neal and acted like nothing was wrong, then Neal would have finished his sentence and would have been let out at that time with no strings attached.

Neal nodded numbly and wiped away at the tears, "Sorry, I know you're not good with dealing with other people crying and everything."

"No, it's okay," Peter said and that was as close to honesty as he could get. Maybe Elizabeth and Neal were the only ones in the world that didn't both him when they cried. Of course, it made his heart ache, but it didn't make him want to go screaming for the hills either, "You need a little bit of venting, I understand that. It's a normal reaction, it's what makes us human."

Neal bit his lip and Peter sighed, "Come here." As awkward as it was, Peter put a brotherly arm around Neal's shoulders and let it rest there. This was as close as they had been and Peter was uncertain about how to approach Neal in his time of crisis. However, that melted away when Neal settled his head on Peter's shoulder and closed his eyes. Peter suppressed a sigh. How could he have let it get so far as to be snuggling up with a felon that was not only his partner but one of his closest friends. Other than Elizabeth, there was nobody else as in touch with him. The thought was both worrisome and comforting. Finally, he had a friend that was a man near him. Then again, Neal was his charge. Peter had thrown him in prison twice and could certainly do it again, this time permanently, if Neal ran or screwed up his probation. Peter didn't think that he could bear to look at El when he got home from doing that. It would be painful and Neal himself wouldn't be the only one hurt if Neal went back to prison.

Peter listened to Neal's soft breathing and got comfortable on the couch without jostling Neal on his shoulder. It had been a long day, certainly one rough on Neal. Both of them were tired and Peter wasn't surprised to see himself begin to wind down while his arm was around Neal. Unconsciously, he knew that Neal was asleep due to the rhythm of his heartbeat and his breathing.

Soon, Peter joined him in dreamland.


	4. Sleep Haze

A/N: Ugh, sorry for the update being so slow! Here's the next chapter!

* * *

The snow fell all around Neal Caffrey as he walked through Central Park. The path was lit by dozens of lamps on posts and the path itself was wet from the snow melting and somewhat sticking. The cold met his warm breath, causing clouds to billow in the air. His hair was doing the soft curling as it always did and he wore a black turtleneck under a heavy coat that kept him insulated against the cold. Peter bought him the coat because the last one burned in the fire that destroyed June's house and Peter didn't want Neal to freeze in the New York cold.

_Peter bought the coat. . ._

For a moment, that seemed odd to Neal as he walked down the path lined with lamp posts and trees. Peter didn't usually buy him anything unless it was necessary. Hmm, maybe Elizabeth put him up to it. No, Elizabeth would just buy it herself and it would be a gift from her. This was definitely a gift from Peter, he knew. Elizabeth probably just shoved her husband out the door and let him fend his own way to get the coat.

_Peter bought the coat. . ._

Neal smiled a bit to himself as he continued walking, the snow getting into his mussed hair. Peter was so thoughtful sometimes, then other times he was so oblivious. He and El had to keep Peter in check just as Peter had to keep Neal in check. El kept herself in check because she was just like that and nobody could tell her otherwise. Well, they could say so, but they wouldn't get any farther past that. They were definitely a trio, the Burkes and Neal, and more than that. They were family. The three of them were the kind of people that would do anything for one another. Neal had already sacrificed a lot for the Burkes. The least Peter could offer to do was to buy him a new coat.

_ Peter bought the coat. . ._

Suddenly, Neal frowned. That wasn't right. It didn't feel right. Peter would tell him to cowboy up, but he hadn't, had he?

Reality began to seep into Neal Caffrey's dream and realization flooded through. No, Neal hadn't cowboyed up because Peter hadn't forced him to. Peter had been sympathetic, obviously learning from Elizabeth, and kind enough to hear him out. _Peter is definitely kind_, Neal thought. Then remembrance shone like the sun through the parting clouds. _Mom. . .what about Mom?_ He had been upset about her for some reason, Neal knew as his unconscious mind searched for the answers he sought in the drugged haze of sleep.

_Peter was here. . .Mom? What about her? I was upset. . .crying I think. . .at home. . ._

_ Oh. _

_ Oh yeah. . ._

Neal felt his gut twist as the stark reality came back to him in a flash and he opened his eyes. He was back to his apartment away from the dreamland he was so comfortable in. Central Park was long gone and Neal was back to his couch. However, this time was different. Neal wasn't alone.

The first thing he realized was that he was laying on the couch instead of on his own bed and then he noticed who he was laying on.

Neal pinched himself because he must be dreaming.

Peter was stretched out on the couch from end to end with Neal lounging on his stomach and barely squeezed on the couch beside Peter. Neal stared up at the ceiling for a moment and then rolled over to where he could stand. He gazed down at his friend and the pull of a smile came to his lips. Peter looked a lot younger in his sleep. It was as if the gruff edges were sanded down and the walls that Peter put up were broken down. The FBI agent was vulnerable appearing. That was a first.

Neal walked to the kitchen and looked at the clock for the time. It was 10:47pm. He knew that Elizabeth would stay up worrying if Peter didn't call her to tell her if he was going to be late or anything. Pouring himself a glass of orange juice, Neal grabbed his cellphone and dialled the number he memorized.

After three rings, he heard Elizabeth's voice ask, "Peter?"

"No, it's Neal."

"Oh, hello, Neal. Is Peter with you?"

"Yeah, he's crashing at my place for the night."

"He is? Alright. Neal, Peter told me that you talked with your father today, are you alright? He mentioned that you were upset and he was concerned. . ."

"I'm fine," Neal lied.

Obviously, Elizabeth could hear the lie his voice or she was psychic, for she replied disbelievingly, "If you say so. Take care of my husband, will you?"

"Sure, Elizabeth. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Neal. See you tomorrow."

Neal hung up and went back to the living room portion of the apartment, pausing at the couch. He quietly and gently untied Peter's shoes and set them neatly on the floor. He also undid his partner's tie and set it on the table. He also unbuttoned the top button on Peter's shirt to make him even more comfortable. As a final touch, Neal stripped a blanket off his bed and covered Peter with it. Making sure that the pillow was secure under Peter's head, Neal went to his own bed and laid down. He gripped the pillow under his head and closed his eyes, listening to Peter's breathing across the room. Sleep finally overtook him again and then he was back in dreamland.

* * *

Peter awoke to the smell of cooking bacon. He opened his eyes and panicked for a moment when he realized he wasn't in his own bedroom or even his own house. Then he caught sight of Neal at the stove with a skillet of bacon sizzling above a flame. In mild confusion, Peter walked into the kitchen and Neal grinned at him, "Mornin', Sleeping Beauty."

Staring, Peter rubbed his face and felt stubble, "What time is it?"

"Nearly 9:30," Neal answered nonchalantly.

Peter jolted in the seat that he just sat down in, "What?! We were supposed to be at the office an hour ago!"

"Don't worry about that," Neal brushed off Peter's panic, "I called Jones and told him to stall for us til we got there and he was more than happy to help."

"I didn't call El last night either. She must have worried half to death," Peter's eyes were wide as he went for his phone, then Neal interjected, "I called her last night. She was alright with you staying here."

Peter paused, breathing in the cool air of the morning, "You did?"

Neal nodded, focused on breakfast. He flipped the pancakes on the griddle and moved the bacon around on the skillet. He then retrieved the syrup from the pantry and said, "Hope you like sugar free syrup. That sugar-loaded stuff will give you a cavity in ten-seconds flat."

Peter could only stare at his host, "That's fine. Thanks."

"Come on and sit," Neal gestured to the table, "You need some breakfast before you go charging off to war against us common criminals."

Peter wordlessly sat and Neal set a plate in front of him. Then he saw a glass of orange juice appear. Neal sat down and started eating his food and Peter thought about what had happened last night. Neal had been a broken shell of a man that night, similar to who he had been a few months ago the second time Peter had to arrest his now partner. He had cried even. Neal hadn't even done that for the MIA Kate. Obviously Anna Caffrey meant more to Neal than Peter would ever know. Maybe it was the memories of his past associated with his mother that Neal had cried over. Whatever it was, Peter didn't know.

Now Neal was being the perfect gentleman. He had made the necessary phonecalls on Peter's behalf and had made him comfortable in his apartment. The ex con had even made him breakfast. Something was up. Perhaps this was Neal's coping mechanism, to pretend that nothing was wrong and to be extremely nice.

Whatever it was, it was paying off. The pancakes and bacon were amazing.

The pair ate quickly and Neal excused himself to take a shower downstairs in another room so that Peter could shave and get ready. Neal decided to lend him a pair of clean clothes that were a tad bit too big for him. Not all of June's husband's clothes were a perfect match since Neal had a delicate figure.

Peter studied himself in the mirror and imagined what it was like to be Neal Caffrey with the finer things in life. The nice clothes, a nice breakfast. . .Peter envied that at times, but reminded himself often that he chose not to live a life like that. He and El chose to have nice things at time so that the nice things wouldn't run out before their time. Peter gazed at his borrowed suit of dark gray and a powder blue shirt accompanied by a lighter gray tie. It was finely made and comfortable on his body.

He came back out into Neal's apartment and saw Neal walking in at the same time. He was dressed in a brilliant black suit with a deep green shirt and black tie. His hair was damp from the shower and his face was clean shaven. His vibrant blue eyes were sparkling like always, but the only thing missing was the playful smile and the energy that he usually had. Peter frowned at that.

"Ready to go?" he finally asked, "Hughes is going to have a fit once we get there for being so late."

"I told Jones-"

"I know what you told Jones, but there's only so much that the kid can do," Peter shook his head, "Anyway, you should stop relying on people waiting on you like that."

"He was happy to help you out," protested Neal, "It had nothing to do with me. He says that you need to get more sleep anyway and I agree with that thought. It's completely justified."

Peter sighed, maybe Jones and Neal were right that he needed more sleep. He was usually run-down before his day off and even on those days, he was called in to the office on some case.

"Okay, let's just get going," Peter abruptly answered. Neal nodded and followed Peter out of the mansion to the car.

The ride to the FBI building was a quiet one for once. Peter snuck glances over at Neal who was lost in space. The younger man stared out the window at the buildings they passed, deep in thought. Peter kept his eyes on the road and kept driving.

Almost immediately after they stepped into the building, the proverbial hammer crashed down.

"BURKE!"

For an older man, Hughes sure did know how to make himself heard across the entire valley of desks of junior agents from atop the "hill" where the experienced agents had their offices.

Peter paled at the intensity of his boss's call and turned to Neal, "Get a head start on the files in my office."

Then he went up the stairs to face the wrath of Director Hughes.

Neal went into Peter's office and sat down in Peter's chair. He unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out several small origami shapes from his pocket and dropped them inside, closing the door and relocking it once they were safely inside. Then he began to read the case files on his partner's desk. A few minutes later, Peter came inside the office and shut the door behind him. He regarded Neal in his chair and simply ordered, "Up."

Neal complied, going over to the chair on the opposite side of the desk, "What did Hughes say?" he asked curiously, scrutinizing the morbid expression on Peter's face.

"He wanted to express how displeased he was that we used FBI resources with your little family reunion yesterday. I explained that it was important to have you monitored because you both are convicted felons. Obviously, Hughes has a differing opinion on the matter. However, he says that he's suspicious that Suttle is in New York for something other than to just see you. He has a pair of agents keeping an eye on him while he's here in the city."

"Oh," was all that Neal could say at first, "Okay. Should we be watching out for him also?"

"Only if he proves to be confirming Hughes's suspicions. Otherwise, don't worry about it."

Neal nodded and leaned back in the chair, "Somehow I get the feeling that not worrying about my dad is a mistake."

* * *

A/N: Foreboding, is it not? The next chapter will be more exciting, I promise! However, do tell me what you liked/disliked/thought about this chapter. I always want to make improvements and please my readers in upcoming chapters.


	5. Watched

A/N: Sorry for the slow update. My internet has been terrible and I haven't had much time to write with all of the holiday preparations and exams that had been going on. Enjoy this chapter and please review!

* * *

Neal Caffrey wasn't one to be spooked easily. He was one of the more calm and collected criminals which made him a perfect candidate for white collar type crimes. There wasn't any need for desperation and waving guns around because he had everything under control or at least with a plan. Or perhaps what passed as a plan. This time Neal wasn't committing a crime or wasn't even on the wrong side of the law, maybe that's what made him open and vulnerable to being a little jumpy. Keeping a steady pace on the worn concrete sidewalks, Neal walked to a nervous rhythm. It felt like there were eyes on him somewhere, but every time Neal looked around, nobody was there. Maybe it was the paranoia that his father was in the same city after several years of being out of contact. Maybe it was because the FBI was watching his father and were suspicious of his alleged wrongdoing. Perhaps it was both or maybe nothing at all. It could be just a figment of his imagination, for all he knew. However, Neal doubted that explanation. Something was definitely up and his sixth sense knew it.

The young FBI consult wished that he didn't have to walk to June's that evening. Peter had been called away to Albany that afternoon due to some crisis on his side of the family which meant he would be away for at least a couple of days. That meant the entire weekend plus some more time would have Peter away from New York if Neal was that unfortunate. That meant long hours at the office by himself with a detail team on his ankle monitor watching his every move. He couldn't make any progress on cases because he needed Peter, so there was essentially nothing to do except making origami figures. Maybe he could make an army of them to surprise Peter when he got back. . .

With Peter and Elizabeth gone, Neal was basically alone. Mozzie hadn't been around for several days and June had been spending a lot of time out with her granddaughter. Neal wasn't one for a pity party extravaganza, according to himself and not Peter who thought otherwise, but this was ridiculous!

Walking on the sidewalk still, Neal peered into shop windows while he traversed the long avenues leading to June's home. Then he began to notice the same man in every reflection of the window. Sometimes he was watching Neal intently and other times he appeared to be hiding himself from Neal's attention. Neal pretended like he didn't notice, but his heart was racing. The man gave him the chills. Just his appearance was something to make one's heart rate quicken. He had a long scar running from temple to jaw and dark, piercing eyes. Neal felt like he had seen that man before and that he recognized a face as frightening as that, but he couldn't pinpoint who it was. He just knew that it was from a long time ago.

A long time ago. . .maybe from his childhood?

Neal quickened his pace, swallowing uneasily. June's wasn't too far away now. He turned the corner and saw the mansion dead ahead. Pulling out his keys, Neal was ready to get inside and lock the door when he had a funny feeling and looked back behind him. There, he saw the strange man right behind and watching him full on. Neal turned back around and then jogged across the street to the mansion. When he was on the front step of the porch, he turned once more. The man was where he had been as if he had stopped, frozen in place. Neal shuddered slightly and stuck the key in and then went inside, locking the door behind him. He went up the grand staircase to his apartment and locked that door also. The ex-con hung up his coat and rested his hat on the coat stand. Then he poured himself a glass of wine and sat at the table. The silence of the apartment enveloped him and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting his heart slow down to normal and the alcohol slide down. . .

_BRRRRING!_

Neal yelped despite himself at the sudden torrent of sound cutting through the still air like a knife.

Heart racing once more, Neal picked up the phone and put it to his ear, "Caffrey."

"There's something important that I'd like to discuss with you. Are you free for dinner?"

Neal's heart thumped against his chest so hard that he thought for a moment that it was literally going to bust out, "Depends on what we're discussing and where we're going to eat at."

"I just wanted to talk about some future plans, alright? I'll have my driver pick you up at six."

Without another word, the line went dead.

* * *

Neal watched as the skyscrapers flickered past. The limo flew down the street, weaving in and out of traffic, but Neal felt anchored as if he wasn't moving at all. He sank into the leather seat that smelled distinctly of cigars and vodka and closed his eyes momentarily. Mozzie was stationed in Neal's apartment with his cell phone turned all the way up in case things went south and Neal needed help. That made Neal feel a tad bit more comfortable with the situation, but he wished that Peter was closer than 100 miles away.

"We're here," announced the gruff limo driver. Neal glanced up and then out of the tinted window. He was in a restaurant that he hadn't been to before that was on the very edge of his two-mile radius. _Villaggio Italiano_ was the name that was carved into the sign that was crookedly nailed onto the face of the tiny building that housed the restaurant. Neal couldn't think of any reason why his father wanted to eat at a dingy place like this, but he knew that it probably wouldn't be good. John Suttle was a man of finer things and he stole and conned so that he could have those finer things. This didn't add up.

Neal stepped out of the car to the crisp, cold December air. He quickly went into the small restaurant and looked around. He then saw his father's hand waving him over. The son approached and took a seat, eyes searching the place thoroughly.

"I ordered you your oysters already-" John began.

"I'm not hungry," Neal cut in, "Get to the point. What is that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"You've grown into such a feisty young man, haven't you?" John sighed, "Alright, we'll play it your way for now. Cutting the crap, I want you to join me."

"What?"

"I want you to become my partner."

"I already have a partner," Neal retorted, rising from his seat. He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced up to see the man with the scar standing there with a fierce gaze, "Mr. Suttle isn't finished speaking." Scarface growled.

"Thank you, Leroy," John said to Scarface, then he directed his attention back to Neal, "Neal, son, I wouldn't ask you if you weren't the perfect man for the job. We could be a great team, you and I. I run a large operation in San Fran and you can join me. We can expand the family business throughout California and establish a base here in New York. You're all buddy-buddy with the FBI now. You can see to things that the rest of us can't."

Neal stared at his father incredulously. Was he serious?

"You could see your mother if you wanted to or stay here, it doesn't matter to me. We could be great, Neal!" John grinned widely as his son glanced around the empty restaurant with raised eyebrows, "Imagine it, father and son, the best conmen that the world has ever laid eyes on!"

"Sorry, that would go against my parole," Neal answered, making his father's grin turn sour.

"Forget the FBI then, I can create a new identity for you where you can live freely," John persisted.

"What's making you so desperate, John? I'm not coming anywhere near you, okay? I'll never cooperate with whatever scheme you've got going on. As a matter of fact, I'll stop you if you try anything while you're in my city."

"You're city?" John smirked, "Yeah, you and your leash tethering you to two miles worth of New York."

"I deserve how short that leash is," Neal replied suavely, hearing the Peter voice in his head telling him once more that he had brought this on himself in the first place for being a conman.

"Fine."

Neal watched his father stand up and continue speaking, "Fine," John repeated, "Your little game, your little rules. But I'll win, just you watch. Don't you even think of getting in my way, boy, I can make life hell for you and your precious little FBI friends."

"I'll stop you," Neal stared up at his father looming over him, "Whatever you have planned, I'll stop you because I'm not going back to prison."

"I'll have to stop you first then, won't I?" John sneered at him, a trace of sadness flickering over his face, "So regrettable. . ."

Neal frowned, his brow creasing and he turned to stand up, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the wine bottle being smashed onto the back of his head. The floor came up at him fast and darkness was cast over him.


	6. Call to Albany

A/N: So, it's been a while since I've updated this story. Believe me, I love this story, but my muse decided to take a long vacation. I'm now back and right back into action! It's a bit of a short chapter, but there's more to come! As always, review and leave me some feedback. I love to hear from you!

* * *

"_Oh Neal, you look so handsome!" _

_The brown-haired teenager blushed at his mother's compliment and then turned his face away so that she couldn't seen the welling tears. He looked back up a moment later as a cool, soft hand cupped his chin and gently raised it. He stared into the deep blue eyes of Anna and then reached up to wiped the falling tears away so that she couldn't see them, even though he knew that she had already. _

"_Neal, sweetie, why are you crying?"_

_Neal avoided her eyes for a moment before glancing back at them, lowly speaking, "Things are going to be so much different now, aren't they, Mom?"_

"_Yes, sweetie, they are," Anna beamed happily, but with a touch of a frown lingering, "Are you alright with all of this? I know you had your reservations about Marcus at first…he was someone that we didn't know, but I thought he'd become family by now-"_

"_Mom," Neal cut her off and Anna fell silent, chewing at her bottom lip, "I like Marcus a lot, he's more like a father than I have ever known. I'm happy for you, honestly. Don't worry about me, I'm fine."_

_Anna hesitated before smiling broadly once more, "Thank you, Neal. I'm glad that you're happy and happy for me too."_

"_No problem, Mom," Neal felt his throat tighten up at those words, "No problem at all. Now let's go get you married, okay?"_

"_Alright, Neal," Anna smiled once more, softly, the kind of smile that was reserved for a mother and child._

"_Shall we?" Neal offered her his arm with a gallant sweep of the arm. Anna took his arm and Neal nudged open the door to the sanctuary of the church where Anna was about to be married to Marcus Caffrey. _

* * *

There was a faint, yet irritating buzzing sound in his ear. Neal reached up to swipe at what he thought was a bug at his ear, but this arm felt like fifty pounds as he tried to lift it up. He set it back down with what felt like a _thunk_ on the ground. Wait, why was he on the ground? Realization flooded back to Neal as his eyes snapped open and he lurched to a sitting position. Bad decision on his part. Lights and colors exploded before his eyes and the world tilted around him. Neal groaned and lowered his head back down to the floor, closing his eyes again briefly before opening them to reach up for the table he had been sitting at to lift himself up. Once he was at a standing position, he lifted a hand to his head and then rested one against the table he was leaning on. He then lowered his hand from his head to his pocket to retrieve his cellphone. Head swimming, he dialled the first emergency number on his phone.

After four rings, the phone was picked up.

"_Hello?_"

* * *

"_Peter…_"

Peter Burke's heart skipped a few beats when he heard the raw pain and the grogginess in his partner's voice. Immediately, he knew something was wrong.

"Neal!" Peter said, "What's wrong?"

"_I was attacked…_"

"Attacked? Who attacked you?" Peter demanded, his eyebrows narrowing. He got up from the bed he was sitting on, Elizabeth's eyes following him with concern at his tone. Peter went over to his suitcase and started packing up the clothes scattered around. He knew that he wasn't going to stay in Albany much longer.

"_It was my dad…we had a meeting and when I refused his offer…he got his goon to hit me with a wine bottle…I lost consciousness, but…_" Neal's voice was cut off by a rugged gasp.

"Neal?" Peter's voice was infused with concern and sheer worry, "Neal, talk to me."

"…_I don't think I have just a concussion. I've had one of those before…it doesn't feel like one of those…I think I was drugged…_"

Peter's heart raced. He remembered the last time that Neal had been drugged. It was not a pretty sight and the younger man had been through withdrawal pain from the heavy dosage. Not to mention all of the nightmares and terror the kid had had from the hallucinogenic affects.

"Hold tight, Neal," Peter forced the fear from his voice to keep his partner calm, not to mention Elizabeth who was right beside him trying to listen to the conversation, "I'm coming to get you, kid. Don't worry about a thing. Where are you? Have you called 9-1-1 yet?"

"_No_," Neal's voice was coming out in short gasps over the phone now, "_I can't really see…_" his voice wavered in and out and Peter was concerned that Neal would lose consciousness while on the phone.

"Listen to me, do you know where you are? I can call the office to get paramedics to you if I know your location, alright?" Peter pulled on his coat as he spoke, "Where are you, Neal?"

"_Uhh….oh, I don't even remember_," Neal said sleepily, his words getting slower and coming out more slurred, "_Some Italian restaurant…can't remember the name…it's on the border of my tracker range…_"

"Okay, kid," the older man said into the phone, "Hold on and I'll be there as soon as possible. Neal?" He heard no more labored breathing, only silence on the other side, "Neal!"

* * *

Peter Burke made record time getting from Albany to New York. He raced through two airports, over landing strips, and then to a cab that would take him to his partner. He had been on the phone with Hughes and the office ever since he landed fifteen minutes ago. Cruz had been on patrol when Peter had called in the emergency to Headquarters and had been the first one to respond to the call. She had taken Jones and scoured the border of Neal's tracker range for an Italian restaurant that had been disturbed or looked suspicious. Finally, after a lead and over two hours of frantic searching, they had found Neal. He had been unconscious upon retrieval and barely breathing. From the restaurant, a BUS was called and took Neal to the closest hospital.

Now Peter Burke was rushing into the ER, wildly scanning the wing for anyone from the office that he knew. Eventually, he spotted Jones talking to the nurse at the desk.

"Jones!" Peter shouted, not aware that he was shouting, "What happened?!"

The junior agent recounted the information they had collected, basically that Neal had been hit with the wine bottle and how they had found him, and then added, "The doctors found traces of a poison drug in Caffrey's blood. He's unresponsive at the moment. They're testing him right now to see if he can be revived."

Peter's mind reeled. He turned away and rubbed his jaw hard with his hand. This just had to happen the moment he left Neal out of his sight. He was such an idiot for leaving Neal in New York without his supervision. Forget that Neal was a fully-grown man, he still needed to be watched at all times! Especially with his criminal father on the loose in New York City.

_God, Burke, how could you be so stupid? _


	7. Gaps and Voids

A/N: I'm loving all of the reviews! Seriously, y'all are great! In this chapter, I'm trying to fill in a bit of what happened back in the restaurant. The monologue should make things more clear. This chapter might seem a little slow, but the next one has more of the getting-down-to-business scenes. :) As always, read, enjoy, and review! I love hearing from y'all!

* * *

"_Neal… Neal! Wake up and smell the roses, you need to listen to this! Sorry about hanging up your conversation with Burke, but it had to be done so we could talk to you. We need you to understand. You need to be out of the way while the gang is in New York. Things are going to go down and it's not going to be pretty. Since you won't join us, we have to put you out of the way. The son of John Suttle can't be harmed in all of this, even if Neal Caffrey is one of the Feds now. You got me there? You're _not_ a target. Some of the people you work for are targets and you can't be around, just in case things get nasty. I think thing will get very ugly so you're going down and staying down for the meantime. Don't worry, it's not going to be too long, we'll get in and out as quickly as possible… We've just injected a little drug into your system that will keep you out of harm's way. Administration is very painful, that's why we hit you with the wine bottle, got it? Anyway, we're tipping off the Feds to your location so that they can pick you up. We don't intend to harm you, but if this doesn't go as planned and they revive you early, we will dispatch another method of silencing you. Nothing personal, of course. We still want to recruit you. As an act of good faith, we've left a number in your jacket pocket. It's your mother's number. Everyone knows that her condition is becoming dire. Anyway, best of luck to you and we'll see you once you wake up."_

_The shadowy figure gently lowered Neal's head back down to the floor. The young man's eyelids fluttered open and closed, as if they were fighting to stay open and miserably failing. The figure stepped back and gazed down at Neal as the blue eyes finally closed. The person turned away, but stopped short when they heard a breathy, faint whisper, "Please…help me…"_

_With a heavy heart, the figure resumed walking toward the door. Once outside, the figure met with another, "Phase One is complete." _

"_Then let's proceed as planned."_

* * *

Neal was dreaming.

Or at least he thought he was.

Voices floated all around him. Some words of conversations around him made sense, but most of the sentences were garbled and incomprehensible. Neal strained to make sense of more than a few words at a time, but gave up soon afterward after no success. He then resolved to just drift there. He was in a void of black. It wasn't mere darkness since he couldn't see anything. It was more black than darkness, resembling the color rather than the state. That was confusing to Neal because that didn't make much sense in his befuddled brain. Then again, it was a dream, wasn't it? Things didn't have to make sense in a dream, did they? Neal didn't know for sure, but he thought the answer was that they didn't have to make sense. If that itself made any sense.

Things were just too confusing for him to think, so he gave up on that also.

Instead, he just stayed there, not thinking, just floating, letting the few translated words flit over to him. Several times, he thought that he recognized the voice that the words belonged to, but he dismissed that idea. Thinking was too strenuous. Pondering was just as bad.

So he floated.

And floated.

And floated some more.

Finally, it wasn't such a strain to think about the monologue he had heard earlier. Those words were the only concepts available in the void he was drifting in that actually made sense. Neal repeated the sentences over and over until he could recite it backwards. He didn't understand, the processing ability to gain understanding was just beyond his grasp. He could remember, but not comprehend. It was frustrating. Well, it would be if Neal wasn't so tired and could actually feel frustration. Exhaustion leaked into him. It radiated into him, consumed him, left him drained…

Blue eyes snapped open.

The light was blinding and the blue eyes immediately closed once more in surprise. Tentatively, Neal opened his eyes open little by little, adjusting from the black to the light shining down on him. He tried to lift his hand to shield his eyes, but his arm wouldn't move. He finally fully adjusted and glanced around. He was currently staring up at a ceiling, Neal then realized. He turned his head slightly to the side, happy that he could at least move that part of his body. Gazing to his left, he immediately spotted a vase full of white lilies. On the card attached was written in large, bold cursive, "For my dear Neal, Love, June." Neal smiled a little at that, except that smiling hurt so he quickly stopped. Looking past the vase, he studied the room with all of the machines present. He was in a plain hospital room, a room off of the ER he determined since the crash supplies were in the room along with the other medical equipment. Turning to the right, Neal saw several cards propped up on the adjacent side table. Head swimming by that point, Neal resolved to find out what was going on.

"Peter--" he attempted to call out, voice coming out as almost nonexistent. He launched into a fit of coughing that lasted more than several minutes without refrain. His lungs burned and Neal's eyes watered as the pain rose in his chest. Staring at the wall, he looked around for a call button and found it on his left. Reaching up, straining to get to it, Neal hit the button and then slumped back down in the bed. Moments later, a nurse came into the hospital room with a broad smile, "Welcome back, Mr. Caffrey."

Neal watched her do a cursory medical examination over him, unable to either protest or assist. She smiled the entire time, speaking to him in a pleasant voice just about nonsense that surprisingly kept him calm throughout the deal.

"I'm going to get the doctor so that he can give you a more proper look-over, dear. I'll also find your partner, he shouldn't be too far. He'll be happy to see you," concluded the nurse after she finished telling him about the most recent baseball game that had been on television, "I'll be back soon."

Neal nodded almost imperceptibly, but couldn't find the voice to say anything. Several minutes later, he heard footfalls outside his door and opened his eyes to see an older man and Peter Burke come into his room. Peter seemed to be more in a hurry than the doctor, for Peter sidestepped the doctor, taking the lead to get to Neal first.

"Neal!" Peter exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that he was in a hospital of all places, "What were you thinking?!" Neal, who had smiled a little at his partner when he arrived, felt his smile slide off his face at the anger that consumed Peter's facial features. This was _not _good.

"I--" he began, but was cut off by both coughing and Peter's launched tirade.

"You _what_? You decided to be an _idiot_ and run off to go see your highly dangerous daddy that could have likely _killed you_? How come you didn't at least tell anybody you were going to do something stupid like that? You should have called me so that we could arrange something! But _no_, Neal Caffrey couldn't be _bothered _taking his own safety into consideration, could he? Great going, Neal! You're lucky to be alive right now. I might just change that, judging by how mad I am at you right now!"

Neal stared at him with wide eyes as Peter's face turned from pink to deeper shades of red. He glanced up at the doctor that was examining him that was watching Peter out of the corner of his eye.

"Agent Burke, you're not doing much to help my patient," the doctor told Peter, "If you could, please hold what you have to say until later or please wait outside."

"I'll stay, I'm finished with what I had to say," Peter responded, seemingly deflating a bit.

"Thank you," the doctor muttered in Peter's direction before turning his full attention to Neal, "Mr. Caffrey, I'm Dr. Carter Underwood. How are you feeling?"

Neal slightly shook his head, looking between Peter and Underwood. Giving him a sympathetic smile, Underwood continued, "I figured that much. Your vocal cords and throat are inflamed due to an allergic reaction to a drug that was injected into your system. It was a severe allergic reaction that came close to resulting in your death, Mr. Caffrey. The drug's initial affects were to immobilize you and keep you unconscious, but it didn't work out that way. You should be experiencing a dull pain, headache, your limbs heavy, a severely sore throat, and your chest hurt. It should also be difficult for you to breathe right now."

"Got all that," Neal choked out, "How long was I out?"

"Approximately 74 hours."

Neal closed his eyes once more. Three days was a long time.

"I'm going to give you medication to where the pain will lessen and you may sleep. Hopefully you can rest enough that you can be released from here in no time," Underwood told Neal cheerfully as he checked the IV that was hooked to Neal's hand, "How does that sound?"

Neal made a humming noise of approval and then peeked his eyes open as Underwood prepared to give him the medication. His eyes landed on Peter and he quietly spoke, "I'm sorry."

Peter sighed softly, "It's alright, Neal. Just rest and get better. We'll talk about this later."

Neal frowned, but then the drugs worked their way into his system and he felt his eyes slide shut.


	8. Giving Way to a Plan

A/N: I love all of the reviews coming in :) It makes me very happy.

* * *

Time moved slowly for Neal Caffrey, who was confined to the small hospital room for the better part of six days. Peter stopped by three times a day, before work, during lunch, and then after the day was over. Sometimes it was to pop his head inside the door or just to talk to the doctors about Neal's condition. He never stayed long or really talked to Neal, which made the younger man sullen and quieter. It still touched Neal that Peter came by the hospital as much as he did. Just his presence in the same location was a small comfort. He was visited often by Elizabeth who actually came to sit with him and talk to him. He felt reluctant to speak to her about Peter's avoidance for some reason. He didn't want to her to yell at Peter and make everything worse. Neal especially didn't want her to get onto Peter and have the older man even more mad at him. Deep down, he knew that Peter wasn't really mad, he was just worried about him. However, the drugs kept him in a constant state of surface confusion that made him wary of Peter's emotions toward him.

Eventually, Neal decided that he needed to talk to _someone_ about what he was thinking. That decision came almost at the same time that June arrived. June had visited him at least once a day, bringing him different gifts every time. She was the doting grandmother Neal never had, he discovered with a flame of pride within his heart. He loved June, not only for the gifts, but the counsel she provided. She was never refusing of him sharing his thoughts with her. In fact, she seemed to appreciate knowing what he was thinking and encouraged him to open up to her when he seemed troubled.

Just as he was today.

"Neal, dear," June began slowly, "What's bothering you? I can tell you're worried by that crease in your forehead."

Neal glanced up at her from his cuticles that he had been picking at constantly for the past half an hour. He didn't know how to voice his inner musings for a moment, but he was in no rush. June was the most patient person he knew.

"It's Peter," he finally admitted and June gave him a knowing look before he continued, "but I assume that you already know that."

"Yes, it's quite obvious, dear."

"I've been realizing that more and more here lately," he sighed, coughing as he inhaled once more.

"What's going on with Peter, Neal?"

Neal paused, "It's the way that he's been handling my…incident. I know that I screwed up by not telling him about going to see my father, but I didn't think he would be so mad. I have a feeling that underneath all of the concern he has for me, that he's truly angry. Like I betrayed him."

"He considers you like a family member, whether he will admit it or not," June leaned back in her chair, "More like a brother, I suppose. From the psychological standpoint, you two don't get along, mirroring the behavior of siblings. He really does care about you and when you do something rash and get yourself hurt, he is angry for it. It is nothing to take personally."

"I didn't know you were a psychologist, June," Neal cocked his head to the side in marveling at the increasingly more complex woman that was his landlady.

June smiled softly, "I am a woman of many interests and trades."

"I agree," Neal chuckled, but then grew serious once more, "What should I do? Do you think he's going to get over it and just move on?"

June hesitated, lost in thought for a moment, "I do believe that he will embrace you again once you're well again. I don't think this will have a negative impact. If anything, this incident will bring both you closer."

"I hope so," Neal sunk further below the blanket and closed his eyes for a moment, "Thanks, June," he told her when he returned his attention to her.

"You're welcome, dear," June smiled again, "Now, I must be going. I have a charity auction to attend. It's helping to fund this very hospital."

"Alright," he took her hand briefly, gazing up at her with his wide blue eyes, "I'll see you later?"

"Yes, Neal, I'll be back soon," June promised.

After she had left, Neal turned over on his side and stared at the wall for a few minutes. Were he and Peter really going to get closer? It was astounding that they were in the relationship that they had. Neal, the ex con and Peter, the FBI agent who had caught him and thrown him in prison. How could they have made such fast friends? Sometimes Neal still wondered about that. His instincts told him that nothing was amiss, but his paranoia had grown during his time in prison. The best thing about his present life was that he was safe for once. No worries about being abused at home by his dad, no worries about being abused in prison by the inmates. Peter really did care for him and he knew that as long as Peter was living, no permanent harm would come to him.

_While Peter was living. _

A gut-wrenching fear coursed through him. Ice seemed to fill his veins. Neal shuddered and rolled on his other side. A steel fist of panic gripped his heart and Neal pulled the blanket tighter around himself. He then closed his eyes, fighting against the worry that had brought nightmares to him since he had actually begun to care about Peter. Nightmares that would never go away.

* * *

The sun rose on the sixth day since he had first awoken in the hospital and Neal's muscles were as sore as hell. The chemicals had lingered in his system for longer than the doctors had predicted, but they said that after one more night, he would be discharged. Neal was grateful for that, since he couldn't stand much more of the blank white walls or the smell of disinfectant. Followed by the rising sun was a voice that Neal knew all too well that made his heart jump.

"Mornin', Sleeping Beauty."

Neal sat up immediately to have a bundle of clothes thrown at him. He stared at Peter Burke standing at the end of his bed and then glanced down at the clothes.

"Is it time to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, get dressed and I'll get you checked out so we can get breakfast," Peter nodded cheerfully. Neal raised an eyebrow at him and his cheeriness. Peter wasn't a morning person, which meant that he either had had a lot of caffeine already (Neal checked the clock, it was 6:30) or there was something up.

"Why is it so early?" Neal asked in mild confusion as he stiffly got out of the bed, groaning as his muscles screamed in protest. The doctors said that it was estimated that his muscles would be in a state of constant ache and pain for several weeks. Neal hadn't been that excited about that news.

"Because we have a lot to do today," Peter replied vaguely, making Neal's suspicions soar, "Just get dressed, I'll be waiting outside."

Neal barely managed a nod before Peter was out the door, closing it behind him. Neal picked up the bundle of clothes that were tied together with a piece of twine. He untied the twine and unfolded a pair of blue jeans, plain gray shirt, and a pair of brand new white boxers. He got out of the hospital gown and into the boxers quickly, feeling better already. He then slipped on the jeans and shirt while his sore muscles complained the entire time. Opening the door, Peter glanced at his appearance before nodding in approval, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"French toast," Neal responded immediately.

"French toast it is then," Peter gestured for him to follow. Ten minutes later, they were out of the hospital and in Peter's car. Neal was holding onto the paperwork that the nurses had given him when he checked out. Something about updating his contact and employment information and resubmitting it. He'd figure it out later. A few minutes later, Peter pulled up to a small diner and Neal followed him inside like a lost puppy. They took seats at the counter and a waitress came up to them.

"Good morning, what could I get you for breakfast?" she smiled as she held out the notepad, ready to write what they wanted down.

"Pancakes and bacon for me, French toast for him," Peter said quickly, "and lots of coffee."

"Coming right up," she smiled before going toward the kitchen.

Neal readjusted himself on the stool before turning to Peter, "When are you going to give me the rundown on what we're doing today? I have a feeling that it's something big."

"It is something big," Peter nodded, "We have a big case."

"Like catching Neal Caffrey big?" Neal asked.

"Like taking down the LA crime syndicate big."

"The LA crime syndicate?"

"Yeah, your dad's gang."

"That's not a good idea, Peter. They're dangerous," Neal felt his blood run cold, "This isn't a white collar operation. This is more of a terror and homicide unit's job."

"I know it's risky, but the FBI needs us on this since you're Suttle's kid."

"Me?"

Peter's face turned dark, "The FBI thinks that you could somehow lure him into a trap or get cozy with him so that it'll be easier for us to get to him. I'm personally against the idea. I think that putting you in that position is too risky and we don't want you to get hurt. _I _don't want you to get hurt."

Neal took to drumming his fingers on the counter, "He wouldn't hurt me. That's not his goal, so I've been told."

"Why do you say that?"

"Right before I blacked out, there was someone there and they told me that John doesn't want me hurt. That attack was just to get me out of the way while they were in New York. I'm not supposed to be a key player anyway. Not now."

"Now?"

"Because I said no," Neal's gaze turned hard when he stared into Peter's eyes. His blue eyes became blue steel as he said, "He wanted me to join him, but I said no."

Peter's eyebrows narrowed, "He wanted you to join him," he echoed, "That's interesting. This could be deeper than we thought."

"How?" Neal asked as the waitress came back. She sat down their plates and Peter ate a slice of bacon before replying, "Do you think that he would just give up on your that quickly? That he would just take no for an answer? From the files that we've been looking through, he would simply kill you if you denied him."

"He's ruthless," Neal gazed down at his plate glumly, "He'll do anything to get what he wants. If he really wants me, he'll come after me again or kill me. I see your point."

Peter hesitated and then set a hand on Neal's shoulder, "I'm not going to let him hurt you, Neal."

Neal turned and looked at him once more, eyes softening, "I know."

Peter stared at him for a few seconds longer until he split into a smile, "Now eat up, you need something better than hospital food in your system."

"Yes sir," Neal smiled back, cutting into his French toast and popping it in his mouth, "We've got work to do."

* * *

A/N: Go on, hit that shiny green review button and tell me what you think ;)


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